


Sweet Friendly Competition (Or, Atsumu is a Baking Madman)

by that_one_scared_gay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M, i swear i tried to make this more shippy but it turned out more friendly than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_scared_gay/pseuds/that_one_scared_gay
Summary: Kiyoomi and Atsumu bake brownies. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 166





	Sweet Friendly Competition (Or, Atsumu is a Baking Madman)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orangegiraffe7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangegiraffe7/gifts).



> i don't go here. i cannot possibly stress how much i don't go here. but it's as they say; there was An Attempt
> 
> paola, this is for you.
> 
> based on the prompt: _"which person in your OTP carefully measures out the flour and sugar and uses a knife to scrape off the excess when baking a cake and which person dumps an entire container of cocoa powder, an overflowing spoonful of baking soda, and three bags of chocolate chips into the bowl before pouring it into a pan and shoving it into the oven (without setting a timer, because they just “know” when it’s done). bonus points if Person B’s brownies end up tasting better than Person A’s and they relentlessly make fun of them while Person A is lying on the floor in anguish yelling “I followed the recipe!!”"_ from @thepencalledriptide on tumblr
> 
> i changed it just a little bit to fit my limited understanding of these characters. i hope you like it.

“Whatcha doin’, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi looked up from where he was carefully measuring half a cup of flour to see Atsumu looking lazily at him from across the counter. The narrowing of his eyes was the only thing that betrayed his irritation at the interruption.

“Baking.”

Atsumu went around the counter to look closer at ingredients displayed on the counter top, separated in neat little bowl. He got uncomfortably close to Kiyoomi, invading his personal bubble. “Baking what?”

“Brownies.” 

Atsumu watched silently as Kiyoomi finished measuring the flour, then carefully started adding ingredients into a large bowl.

“You should add more,” he suggested, when Kiyoomi added what was, in Atsumu’s opinion, way too little cocoa powder.

Kiyoomi’s mouth was covered by his surgical mask, and so Atsumu couldn’t see his frown, but definitely heard his clipped tone.

“The recipe said one third of a cup.”

Atsumu made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Who cares what the recipe says? You should still put more. Here,” he grabbed the packet off the counter, and moved to pour it in the mixing bowl, but Kiyoomi stopped him with a gloved hand.

“I am following the recipe, Miya. If you think the brownies need more cocoa powder, you should make your own.”

Atsumu blinked, then a smug expression appeared on his face. “Alright, I’ll make my own, and I _guarantee_ that they’ll be much better than yours.”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes even further. “I doubt it. But you’re welcome to try.”

With that, he continued adding his meticulously measured ingredients, then saw Atsumu throw half a stick of butter in a small bowl and put it in the microwave.

“The recipe said to melt it in a saucepan.” And half a stick wasn’t the correct measurement, but he doubted Asumu would hear him on that front.

Atsumu shrugged, wiping his sticky fingers on his pants, making Kiyoomi cringe. 

When the microwave went off, and Atsumu grabbed his butter, Kiyoomi saw with some satisfaction that it had not melted completely.

Then, he went back to focusing on his own creation, only to stop and watch in horror as Atsumu dumped almost the entire packet of cocoa powder in his mixing bowl.

“What are you _doing_?”

Atsumu grinned at him. “These are going to turn out great, Omi-kun. Just wait and see.”

Shaking his head, Kiyoomi kept on beating his mixture, while Atsumu kept haphazardly adding ingredients to his own bowl, with seemingly no rhyme or reason to it. When he added the flour (with his _bare hands_ ), a tiny bit of it fell on the countertop. Kiyoomi stared at it. He’d spent ten minutes sanitizing all the countertops before beginning his baking.

Atsumu spotted it quickly. “Sorry,” he said, wiping it down with a dishcloth, which he then placed over his shoulder.

Kiyoomi grunted. “Asshole.” But Atsumu was more careful afterwards, making sure not to spill anything.

When his mixture had turned to the smooth texture indicated by the recipe, Kiyoomi watched, stupefied, as Atsumu started enthusiastically beating his own, with the kind of energy he thought he reserved for the volleyball court.

Eventually, he couldn’t contain himself. “You’re going to murder it before anyone can taste it. And then I’ll win.”

Atsumu glared at him, not stopping his motions. “Mind your own batter.”

So that was what Kiyoomi did. He poured his mixture into an 8x8 pan, already greased and floured (after which Kiyoomi had had to change his gloves), then grabbed a knife to scrape off the remnants of batter sticking to the bowl, before smoothing it out in the pan with his spatula.

At that point, Atsumu had seemingly become satisfied with his work, which Kiyoomi thought still looked a little chunky, and grabbed his own pan out of a cupboard, proceeding to grease it with the same reckless abandon he’d approached this whole affair with. He saw Kiyoomi waiting for him, and gestured towards the oven. “You can put yours in already.”

Carefully, Kiyoomi did just that, placing his pan on the top grill -which was the most recommended- of the already pre-heated oven and setting a timer for exactly 22 minutes.

Then he waited for Atsumu to pour his batter into the pan. Here, finally, it appeared the blonde could show some restraint. He spread it evenly across all corners of the pan, then stuck it in the oven without ceremony, and moved to wash his hands which were all greased up (that dishcloth could only do so much).

“You’re not going to set a timer?”

“Nope,” Atsumu said casually, that infuriatingly smug look on his face again. “I’ll know when they’re ready.”

Kiyoomi made a sound of disbelief.

“Trust me Omi-kun, these will be the best brownies you’ve ever tasted.”

After putting their bowls in the sink - Kiyoomi’s several of various sizes, which had held his carefully measured ingredients, and Atsumu’s single large one, which still had some batter sticking to its sides - Atsumu convinced him to sit on the couch with him as they watched television.

They didn’t touch, but they sat exceedingly close. Kiyoomi couldn’t focus on the stupid daytime television show they were watching, acutely feeling the space between them, as if it were charged with electricity.

If asked, he’d deny stealing glances at Atsumu as they watched, seeing how he threw his head back and laughed when a character said something funny on screen. The pleased flush of his cheeks, the infuriating smoothness of his hair - and Kiyoomi wondered what it’d be like to run his fingers to it, if it felt as soft as it looked. He was so distracted he almost didn’t hear the timer go off.

“That’s yours,” Atsumu said, unnecessarily. Kiyoomi flushed, and thanked the fact that his mask hid most of it.

He put on some oven mittens and took his pan out, staring suspiciously at Atsumu’s, resting on the bottom grill.

“You should take yours out too. You’re not supposed to overcook them.”

Atsumu shook his head. “It’s not time yet.”

“And how do you know?” Kiyoomi snapped. “It’s not like you’ve been keeping track.”

“I just know,” he insisted. “Like I’ll know when they’re ready.”

Huffing again, and cursing Atsumu’s ability to annoy him (and the fact that Kiyoomi let himself be annoyed by him), he put his pan on the counter. The recipe said to let it cool off for 15 minutes before cutting it, so he went back to the couch.

An if he sat that much closer to Atsumu, to the point where even the slightest of movements could result in them touching, well. That was Kiyoomi’s business.

He pretended not to notice how Atsumu stiffened at his proximity, holding himself rigidly on the couch, and when only a few minutes passed before he got up for his own brownies Kiyoomi tried to believe Atsumu didn’t do it just to get away from him.

He failed. Epicly. And so twelve minutes later, when he returned to cut his brownies, his facial expression was carefully blank behind the mask.

Atsumu decided to cut his brownies at the same time as him, although Kiyoomi was certain they would not be fully cooled off yet. But Atsumu had made it clear he was not following any recipes, just his “gut feeling”, which was a load of bull, in Kiyoomi’s opinion.

It was one thing to follow your instincts in volleyball, where they were backed by skill and practice. Cooking, or baking for that matter, was another thing entirely. Recipes existed for a reason.

But he supposed they would find out who was right now.

He cut the brownies into neat squares, Atsumu doing the same beside him. Finally, it was the moment of truth.

Atsumu brought out two plates. Carefully, Kiyoomi put one of his brownies in each one, then watched Atsumu do the same while removing his mask.

He tasted his own first, out of sheer pettiness. It was good. It had the exact fudgy texture the recipe had promised him, and it tasted exactly as a brownie should. Not that he had that big of a base for comparison. Then he went for Atsumu’s.

He couldn’t stop the expression that crossed his face at that moment, and Atsumu noticed too.

“It’s great, isn’t it?!” He crowed. “Better than yours!”

Kiyoomi didn’t respond, continuing to chew silently. It was better, but damn him if he’d give Atsumu the satisfaction of saying it.

“Come on, admit it,” the blonde needled him. “Say it! _‘Miya Atsumu makes the best brownies in the world.’_ Come on, say it!”

Kiyoomi swallowed the last of the brownie. “It’s… decent.”

Atsumu gaped at him. “Decent!” He scoffed, offended “My brownies are better than decent, asshole. And _way_ better than yours.”

“I followed the recipe,” Kiyoomi said evenly. “And I doubt you’d be able to replicate yours.”

Atsumu huffed. “I could too, but whatever. Just ‘cause of that, you can’t eat any more. You can just stick to your mediocre brownies.”

Kiyoomi’s lips twitched in displeasure. Atsumu saw it, of course.

“Or…” he began, smirking. “You can just admit the truth.”

Kiyoomi glared at him, suppressing an eyeroll. This arrogant, cocky, stubborn, enthusiastic, insufferably smug and _endearing_ force of a man. 

“Fine.”

The response he got was riddled with childish glee.

“Fine what?”

_“Miya Atsumu makes the best brownies in the world.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't watched a single episode of haikyuu!! i saw a few scene packs on youtube and spent some time binging sakuatsu fanfics to write this, so i apologize if i completely butchered the characterization.


End file.
